Peter was graciously received, and the conversation dealt, for a few moments, with the usual banalities of the voyage. Then followed the business of settling the Duchesse in her place. When she was really installed, and surrounded with all the paraphernalia of a great and fanciful lady, including a handful of long cigarettes, she raised her veil. Peter, who was at the moment engaged in conversation with her, was a little shocked with the result. Her features were worn, her face dead white, with many signs of the ravages wrought by the constant use of cosmetics. Only her eyes had retained something of their former splendour. These latter were almost violet in colour, deep-set, with dark rims, and were sufficient almost in themselves to make one forget for a moment the less prepossessing details of her appearance. A small library of books was by her side, but after a while she no longer pretended any interest in them. She was a born conversationalist, a creature of her country, entirely and absolutely feminine, to whom the subtle and flattering deference of the other sex was as the breath of life itself. Peter burned his homage upon her altar with a craft which amounted to genius. In less than half an hour Madame la Duchesse was looking many years younger. The vague look of apprehension had passed from her face. Their voices had sunk to a confidential undertone, punctuated often by the music of her laughter. Sogrange, with a murmured word of apology, had slipped away long ago. Decidedly, for an Englishman, Peter was something of a marvel! Madame la Duchesse moved her head towards the empty chair. "He is a great friend of yours--the Marquis de Sogrange?" she asked, with a certain inflection in her tone which Peter was not slow to notice. "Indeed, no!" he answered. "A few years ago I was frequently in Paris. I made his acquaintance then, but we have met very seldom since." "You are not travelling together, then?" she inquired. "By no means," Peter assured her. "I recognised him only as he boarded the steamer at Cherbourg." "He is not a popular man in our world," she remarked. "One speaks of him as a schemer." "Is there anything left to scheme for in France?" Peter asked carelessly. "He is, perhaps, a Monarchist?" "His ancestry alone would compel a devoted allegiance to Royalism," the Duchesse declared; "but I do not think that he is interested in any of these futile plots to reinstate the House of Orleans. I, Monsieur le Baron, am Spanish." "I have scarcely lived so far out of the world as to have heard nothing of the Duchesse della Nermino," Peter replied with _empressement_. "The last time I saw you, Duchesse, you were in the suite of the Infanta." "Like all Englishmen, I see you possess a memory," she said, smiling.